Rearranged
by Feistee
Summary: After "Rewind" - alternate set of events where Donna doesn't find it so easy to come back. D/H
1. Chapter 1

The rhythm of the light drizzle pattering against the window is matched by his fingers drumming on the supple leather of the car seat. The gesture is uncharacteristically nervous, and his awareness of this fact only serves to irk him more.

Three blocks from her East Village apartment, they hit a bout of terrible traffic. Only ominous flashing lights in the distance give any clue of what is causing the delay, and after 8 minutes, Harvey has had enough.

"Ray, let me out here. I'll walk," he says, readying his umbrella.

"You sure?" his driver asks, uncertain. "Call if you need anything-"

Harvey waves him off as he steps out. "Take the rest of the night. Go home, I'll take a cab."

He manages to unfurl is umbrella with minimum damage to his suit, and begins a brisk walk eastward. When he comes upon her building, he knows almost instantly that she is not home. The third floor windows that look into her lounge and bedroom are dark, but he tries the intercom once anyway. As expected, there is no response.

Harvey swears under his breath, immediately regretting his decision to dismiss Ray. But then it hits him. He knows where she is. Fifteen minutes later he's standing in front of Leena's, a swanky but unassuming bar that has been a favorite of Donna's over the decade they have known each other.

After a moment of scanning the dark haze of the lounge, he sees her hunched over a martini, looking all too disinterested in some banker-type who is chatting her up. She snags the olive with the toothpick and pops it into her mouth. Despite himself, he smiles, allowing himself a moment of appreciation. She looks stunning, as usual, in a pleated grey dress that hangs off her frame perfectly, falling just short of the knee.

Steeling himself, Harvey comes to her right and leans against the bar, clearing his throat. She emits and audible sigh and swivels on her seat, unsurprised.

"Hey…" says her prospective companion, all too confused.

Harvey glances at the man once, but pointedly ignores him as he shifts his focus to Donna, who looks _severely_ unimpressed.

"You do not get to do this," she snaps, throwing her martini back in one final gulp.

"Let's go somewhere we can talk," he begins, placing his arm on her pale shoulder. He pulls back as quickly as he makes contact, unsure, but the feeling of the soft skin under his fingers seems to linger.

"Seems like the lady doesn't want to talk," interjects the annoying man, one time too many.

Donna's head snaps towards her would-be-protector, and narrows her eyes dangerously. "Seriously?"

He holds up his hands in surrender, brushes off his suit and marches away, and the word "bitch" is not lost on either her or Harvey. After making a rather rude gesture to the man's back, Donna rises to shrug on her trench coat. Harvey does not stop her, figuring her apartment is as good a place as any to get a moment together without interruption. He is hot on her heels as she steps into what has now become a substantially heavier downpour.

He brings the umbrella up over them as he matches her pace, but he is mindful not to touch her, leaving a just a sliver of space between them. Despite her apparent anger, she doesn't protest his presence, and he is thankful that he had the foresight to bring his umbrella after leaving Pearson Hardman. He's not sure she would tolerate him were he not keeping her dry.

At the doorstep to her building, she shuffles through her purse and pulls out her keys. She nearly drops them in her haste to open the door, but he waits patiently as she pushes it open. She slips inside and he makes his move to follow, but she cleverly knocks her heel against the glass to have it lock in his face.

"Come on, Donna!" he protests, laying his palm against the glass. He sets his jaw, as if to will her to give him entry. Not now. "It's cold out here," he smiles weakly.

As expected, his lame attempt at a joke falls flat, and she watches, her expression revealing nothing. After what seems like an eternity, she pushes against the door, leaving it barely open. He seizes the scant opportunity, knowing there will not be another, and manages to get in. Donna has already made her way past the elevator, and he can hear her stilettos as they hit each step with a resounding click.

They approach apartment 3B, and he can suddenly feel a strange anxiety beginning to build in him. He can usually read people like a book, but her actions have left him utterly confused. He does not know what her intentions are tonight, or if she has any at all.

"Hey Donna," comes the warm voice of her neighbor, who has just come back from the trash chute. The older woman has a knowing smile as her gaze flits between the two of them, and he realizes they look like deer in headlights. "A delivery boy left me a package for you. I can go grab it if you want."

Fortunately, Donna has the wherewithal to flash a dazzling smile, one which he mimics so poorly he is sure it looks like a grimace. "Hey Mrs. Walsh! Late night at the office actually – you know how it goes! I'll get it tomorrow."

Mrs. Walsh gives and unconvinced nod and smiles, shuffling back towards 3C, waving them goodbye.

The squeaking of her opening door alerts him to follow her, as he has this entire night. He is starting to feel like a lap dog, but the scent of her is permeating in the air, and he finds comfort in the familiarity.

She throws her keys on the coffee table and spins to face him. The queen of dramatic flair, if he ever knew one.

"Donna…" he begins. For a moment, he expects her to cut him off, but she raises a brow expectantly, so he begins the only way he knows how: with the truth. "I'm sorry."

She seems to relax slightly at his words. Surprised, perhaps? It is only now in the proper light of her living room lamp that he notices the pretty flush beginning to rise on her cheeks, which he attributes to the Leena's famous cocktails. She's more than one martini deep.

"Harvey-"

"Louis…he went too far. I swear, if Mike or I had any idea about what he was going to do, I never would have asked you to come," he continues, taking a step towards her. "I should have come and checked on you sooner, but as we've already established, I'm an asshole."

Despite his best effort at a smile, she sees through him (as usual). She exhales slowly, glancing at the _Les Miserables_ calendar on the far wall and she knows. "You went upstate this week." She brings her palm to her forehead groans lightly.

For a moment, her dark eyes soften, the self-righteous indignation seeming to ebb away. "How is he?"

He takes the opportunity to sit down on the cream love seat, and meet her gaze. "Same place I left him," he replies with an almost imperceptible shrug.

After some hesitation, she joins him, angling her legs so that they are inches apart. "Five years, huh?" she probes gently.

Harvey nods. "Yes…a milestone, I suppose."

Her tongue darts out to wet her lower lip and she averts his steady gaze. "Whatever you need, Harvey, for the trial, all of it. I'll do it."

Harvey's lip quirks slightly, happy he will finally be able to give her some good news. News that they have both been hoping for.

"You don't-"

She slips her heels off and massages the arch of her right foot with deft fingers. "Please, Harvey, let me say my piece."

He blinks, and concedes, shrugging out of his suit jacket to lay it carefully across the back of the arm chair.

"It was my name on the memo – it was my fault."

He gets up and strolls towards her meagre liquor cabinet that sits beneath the window sill. He grabs the single malt, two glasses and begins to pour.

She swallows, and begins tentatively, so very unlike Donna. "I really didn't want to have this conversation three drinks deep…"

A sense of foreboding anchors itself in the pit of his stomach, but he waits, leaving the whiskey on the glass top in front of her, brushing her knee as his hand pulls back. _But we need you back at the firm. I told Jessica. She doesn't seem _against_ the prospect of re-hiring you. I'll do whatever it takes. _

_I'll fight for you._

"Whatever you need- for the trial, for the suit, I'll give it," she murmurs again, her voice warm from the alcohol. "But I need you to do something for me." Her hands have fallen to rest demurely on her knees and she finds the next words, but he's had enough.

"We settled. There is no trial. I can get you your job back," he says sharply, though a part of him knows this is not what she is fishing for. "Jessica knows. We can probably start you back next week, if you want it. But if you need more time-"

"I need a recommendation from you before my interview on Thursday," she says smoothly.

* * *

The silence is maddening, and she is certain she can hear the dull grinding of his teeth. Finally, she garners enough courage to look upon his face, which is as inscrutable as ever. She decides seeing Harvey Specter, all $5000 dollar suit, couture haircut, in her less-than-ostentatious abode is as strange a sight as ever. They really have been worlds apart all these years, though she is loath to admit it.

She wishes she had cracked a window open.

"If Daniel has anything to say about you coming back to the firm, he can kiss my ass," he continues, seemingly deaf to her request.

Two can play at that game. "I'll forward the paperwork over to Cameron…that's his name right?"

"I fired him," Harvey says easily. Well, really, he relinquished control of the temp, who had simply meandered to the front of another senior partner's office.

She laughs lightly, though it does nothing to break the tension in the air. "What did he do – touch the balls?"

"No. He wasn't you," he replies without a moment's hesitation, and downs what is left of his two fingers of whiskey. He meets Donna's gaze and the finality of this is breaking her heart. She needs him to leave.

"Will you do it?" she presses, not about to let his moment of apparent candor get in the way of her resolve.

"Why?"

Puzzled, she takes a sip, relishing the feeling of the warm liquid spreading down throat and pooling in her belly. She watches him from behind the glass. "Because it's hard enough to get an interview in this crappy economy-"

"After all these years? Why leave now?" he asks again. The ice clinks against the glass as he swirls the dregs of the drink in a steady circle. "Aren't….weren't you happy?"

_Oh, you're on a slippery slope now, Paulsen._ She doesn't owe him any explanation (he would give none to her), she knows that (she's convinced herself), but the words come forth anyway, thanks to a tongue loosened by whiskey and vodka. "I thought I was," she replies softly.

She can see his Adam's apple work against his throat as he swallows some newly poured whiskey. He refuses to look at her as a single word leaves his mouth, laced with venom, "Louis."

Then a familiar anger rises in her gut and she places her glass on the table resolutely. "Don't go blaming this on him," she warns.

"If I hadn't called you for that trial you wouldn't even be thinking about leaving," he shoots back at her.

"You thought I'd just come running back?" she laughs in disbelief and buries her face in her hands. "You know what? I'm glad you called me. And I'm glad Louis humiliated me in front of all my peers. I'm glad he asked those hard questions because then I never would have known."

"Known what?" he asks, his tone softer. He is scared now, and she knows it. A sadistic part of her wants to make him squirm. But the disappointment she has felt over the last month has finally reached an apex.

"That I'm _stuck_, Harvey," she says, her voice taking an edge of desperation.

She offers no further explanation, because he doesn't need one. He knows exactly what she means. He's holding her back. Not professionally…that has never been a problem. The problem has always been everything else.

The unspoken words linger between them, and she feel moisture starting to prick at the corner of her eyes. Really, she wants to thank Louis, for making her see the childish fantasies she had been entertaining for nearly half of her adult years as just that: fantasies. It was time to move on.

"Donna…whatever I did-"

She shakes her head. "You didn't do anything," she replies, honestly.

He stands slowly, suddenly looking very tired. "You can call Norma to get me the paperwork," he says evenly.

She swipes the back of her hand against her eyes to catch the errant tears and she says nothing as he opens the door and walks out.

* * *

**TBC? Maybe.**


	2. Chapter 2

"What do you want."

It's the closest thing the other man will get to a greeting.

"I need the Greenman deposition write-ups you said you'd have done…" Louis glances at his watch for added effect. "Oh, today at noon."

"I had more important things to do," Harvey says matter-of-factly without looking up from his computer screen.

"Really?" Louis chuckles. "I just think you're taking longer than anticipated because A, Mike's tied up with the Gorman libel case-"

"Which _you_ dumped on him," Harvey interjects.

"-and B, you axed Kurt."

"Cameron."

"Whatever."

"It'll be on your desk tomorrow morning before you've had that double mocha crapuccino you call coffee," Harvey continues impatiently. "Get out."

After a beat, Louis rather boldly sits down across from him. He wrinkles his nose as he gets a big whiff of his expensive, overbearing cologne.

"I saw Donna's reference letter request today," Louis starts.

Furious, Harvey slams his laptop shut and steeples his fingers on his desk. "I think I've seen you and Norma exchange two, possibly three, non-case-related words with each other over the years. And suddenly, this ends up being the topic of your first full-fledged conversation?"

Part of Harvey isn't surprised. Louis has always admired Donna, and their quirky…friendship (if you could call it that) seems to be important to him.

Louis crosses his leg over his knee and examines his fingernails in a vain attempt to appear casual. "Dunbar Offerman and Sturm? Nothing but the best for Donna, huh? She'll probably get a raise. The dental there is supposed to be miles above what we have."

Harvey runs a hand over his face and sighs. "What are you fishing for?"

"Why isn't she back yet?" he asks, the usual sneering derision gone from his tone, replaced by genuine curiosity.

"Who said she's allowed to?" Harvey shoots back.

"Oh please," Louis snorts. "The moment the case was dropped, the gears in that noggin of yours were already turning to figure out how to rehire her. And what Specter wants, Specter gets."

Harvey opens his laptop again, pointedly refusing to meet Louis' gaze. "This is none of your goddamn business."

"Oh my god." Louis continues with disbelief. "She doesn't want to."

Harvey's expression darkens as he stands and rounds the desk. "Leave."

"I hope it wasn't you that made her do just that," he says, without an ounce of snideness. He stands and straightens his tie, glancing behind him to the empty desk, his face twisting into a shade of melancholy.

After he is gone, Harvey fingers deftly flit between the records on the far shelf of his collection. After a moment, he finds the particularly frayed edges of a Miles Davis B side.

He drops the player needle expertly on the groove that begins track 2 and falls bodily onto his couch, leaning his head back as jazz fills the room. He closes his eyes as the gentle trill of his father's saxophone crescendos to join Davis' trumpet.

When the song comes to an end, he rises to put the vinyl back in its dustcover and takes a moment to appreciate the skyline glinting twinkling outside his window.

"_Where…how did you get this?"_

"_I know a guy," she dismisses with a casual wave of her hand. _

"_A guy," he echoes warily._

"_Yeah," she shrugs. "Does it really surprise you that I know a few guys?"_

_He examines the inner slip, tracing his fingers over his father's name which is listed under the recording band. "I didn't even know any of these existed," his breathes, awe-struck. _

_She watches patiently, hands linked behind her back as places it carefully beside the others. He doesn't know how long or hard she hunted for it, but he's sure as hell going to take care of it._

_He turns to face her and catches her hand in his, squeezing it lightly. "Thank you."_

"Harvey."

He inhales sharply as he sees Mike in the doorway. "Thought you went home."

"Nope, still chugging," says the younger man, hands in pockets, poorly feigning nonchalance as he rounds Harvey's desk.

He sighs, instantly knowing Mike's intentions. "Does _everyone_ in this office know about the reference request?" he asks, with considerably less vehemence than he showed Louis.

"Well," Mike drawls, his eye catching the document in question on Harvey's desk. "It's sort of a big deal, isn't it?"

"Is it?"

"Yeah. It is. For the firm, for me and Rachel, and…you," Mike says, making it clear he is unwilling to drop the topic.

For a moment, Harvey says nothing, put off by his protégé's needling. Under usual circumstances, he would not tolerate such blatant disregard for his privacy, but the last few weeks have been anything but the usual.

He grabs his jacket from the back of the chair and starts for the doorway, a newly ignited resolve in his step. "Blackstones. I'm buying."

A short time later they are sitting side by side in a dark pub which is occupied only by a young couple in the back corner, but they seem more concerned with each other than the encroaching presence of other patrons.

"I used to come here all the time when I was an associate," says Harvey, taking a long swig of his pint.

"Too low brow for you now?"

He's tiptoeing around the issue, but that is not Harvey's style.

"What do you want me to say?"

"To me?" Mike replies. "Nothing. But you have to talk to her."

Harvey's instincts are telling him to leave. This has nothing to do with Mike, and he has always tended to keep problems in house, but with Donna gone, the house has been getting pretty lonely.

He swipes his thumb across the cool condensation on the glass. Then, quietly. "I tried."

Mike is silent as an ambulance wails in the distance. Finally, he throws back the remainder of his beer and exhales, bolstering his courage.

"Did you two ever…"

Harvey smirks, tapping his index finger against a paper coaster. "That is the million dollar question, isn't it?"

"You know people talk," Mike returns the smile uneasily as he signals for another two beers to the bartender.

The woman, barely into her twenties, attempts to shoot Harvey a flirtatious grin as she brings them their drinks, and when he doesn't even flinch, she stalks away in a huff.

"No," Harvey concedes. Then, as an afterthought, "Well, I kissed her once."

Mike's eyebrows rise and his beer hits bar with a quiet clink.

"We had been drinking," Harvey leads. "She stopped me before it could become anything more. Nothing came of it."

There's a hint of something behind his words. Remorse?

"It was a mistake," he continues, his face becoming stony once more. The cliched sentiments seem to sound hollow in his own ears. "She knew our relationship would never survive the repercussions at the time."

"And now?" Mike presses, taking full advantage of the rare appearance of a forthright Harvey.

"Well," he proceeds carefully. "It's a moot point, isn't it?"

Mike shrugs and glances at his wristwatch. "It's not if you ever thought about it. You really think she hasn't?"

"She made the boundaries loud and clear years ago."

"Maybe," Mike offers, a strange confidence inching into his demeanor, "she didn't like the idea of strolling through Harvey Specter's revolving door of women."

"Please, revolving doors are tacky," Harvey scoffs. "My apartment has an elevator."

Mike just stares back pointedly, not appreciating the attempt at humor. Harvey has a sudden realization as he scowls. "Wait, you talked to her?"

"No, not recently," Mike replies a little too quickly as he stands and shrugs on his jacket. "But that doesn't mean I'm wrong."

He exits quietly, perhaps to visit his grandmother or another 'platonic' dinner with Rachel, leaving Harvey alone with a lukewarm beer.

* * *

**TBC**


	3. Chapter 3

The car hits 7th when he sees a familiar figure walking briskly on the sidewalk. He tells Ray to stop and finds himself following her, though it's harder than anticipated with the throngs of people enjoying the first sunny weekend that the city has seen in some time.

He almost laughs at the absurdity of this. Twice in a month, Harvey Specter following a woman like a trained animal. But then he reminds himself that this is not just some passing dalliance. This is Donna.

His misfortune hits another slump when she turns towards the subway entrance. He scowls and breaks into a light jog, narrowly avoiding a woman and a carriage as he chases the walk sign. In the station, he fiddles with his wallet, fishing out three dollar bills to feed into the machine for a ticket while the rumbling of the approaching train grows louder.

The train has come to a stop as he dodges between people on the platform to catch up with her. Somehow, he just manages to slip into the car behind her as the doors close.

"Donna."

She turns before she can take a seat, and he wishes he could take a picture because he can count on one hand the number of times he's caught her so unawares. "What are you doing?"

"Hitching a ride," he says simply, edging closer to her to allow more room for the other passengers who are getting into the car.

"_You're_ on the _subway_," she emphasizes, finger pointed squarely to the middle of his chest.

"Observant as always."

"I didn't think you knew how to use the subway."

"I'm a fast learner," he smiles, flashing his single ride card proudly.

He is glad to have given her space over the last few weeks. She seems to finally be welcoming his presence. Maybe this will be easier than he thought.

"What do you want now?"

Nevermind.

He opens his mouth to respond when a large man jostles him on his way out and Harvey scowls, but Donna catches his arm. "Personal space is a luxury down here," she reminds him. Then she pulls away and averts her gaze.

Emboldened by her touch, he loops his fingers around her wrist and tugs lightly. "Let me buy you coffee?" he asks, hopeful.

Her eyes flit uncertainly to the platform as the train arrives at Grand Central. Harvey steps out and waits for her to join him but she hesitates. His stomach drops when there is the ominous buzz of the doors readying to close, and she _almost_ doesn't make it out, but then she is beside him and all is well again.

"I feel like I need a shower," he remarks casually as they emerge from the station. "Please, never make me do that again?"

She pointedly ignores his plea, but this doesn't shake his resolve as he leads them westward.

The shade of the trees in Bryant Park is a welcome reprieve from the afternoon heat. He finds them a particularly cool spot that is also conveniently located near the coffee stand. He pulls a chair out for her and she brushes her skirt off before sitting.

After a visit to the coffee vendor, he sets a vanilla latte down in front of her and she accepts it, albeit begrudgingly.

"Aren't you going to ask if I was going anywhere important?"

"Were you?"

She taps her foot on the pavement for a moment and shrugs, so he is satisfied that she was not.

"You know, I'm pretty sure I caught Louis crying to Norma after he found out you were gone," he says nonchalantly, opening the lid of his coffee (black) to let it cool.

"Bull," she responds immediately. "Louis does talk, let alone _cry_ to Norma."

"Trust me, you'd be surprised," he insists. He rolls his sleeves up to his forearms, if only to give his idle hands something to do.

He wonders how they might look to the casual observer on this idyllic afternoon, without the casework, the cubicles, the suits. Seeing her dressed in a casual skirt and blouse is a delightful novelty, one he thinks he could enjoy getting used to. It's alarming, the frequency at which he's having these intimate thoughts. He supposes absence truly does make the heart grow fonder.

"How's Nicholson?" he asks, referring to her new employer.

"Decrepit," she mutters. "Pretty sure he's had the same wardrobe since Nixon was president." She shudders visibly before taking a sip of her latte.

Harvey tries to hide his smirk behind his coffee cup.

* * *

"Don't gloat," she chastises lightly, her lips twitching with amusement despite her best efforts to remain cross.

"This is how my face always looks," he replies defensively. "I'm the cockiest bastard you've ever met, remember?" He echoes her vehement words from their first meeting, which seems a lifetime ago.

"Oh yeah," she rolls her eyes. "Still holding that title. Competition isn't even close."

He laughs lightly at the sentiment and it warms her heart, though she wishes it wouldn't.

It seems so easy to fall back into this familiar pattern of banter and smiles, and she has to remind herself that this isn't part of the plan. For a moment, they are both silent, and she listens to the calming splashing of the fountain in front of them. A gentle breeze rustles by and she tucks an errant lock of hair behind her ear as the scent of fresh pastries wafts towards them. She could almost forget.

The lull in the conversation is broken as he slides the iron-wrought chair forward, coffee forgotten. "Why won't you come back? I mean, really?"

She blinks, taken aback by the sudden turn in the conversation.

"I can't," she insists dumbly.

Flight mode is quickly winning over fight, and she is itching to leave. Her mind races to find a way to extricate herself from the situation.

"Why?" he repeats.

Harvey, unfortunately, has always been about the fight.

"I followed you your entire career." She runs her thumb along the length of her coffee cup, the uncomfortable warmth providing a welcome distraction. "I followed you from the DA's office to Pearson Hardman. Hell, I even followed you out of that subway today. And I just can't anymore."

To her surprise, Harvey smiles.

"Don't you get it?" He takes her hand in his and the words of indignation that are rising in her throat are quelled by the unexpected physical contact. "You haven't been following me. All this time, all these years, you've been _beside_ me."

Her hand tenses in his and he tightens his hold pre-emptively. His eyes search hers and she finally knows what it's like to be cross examined by the greatest closer New York has ever seen. She hates it.

"When I'm asking you to come back," he says, his voice low, gentle. "I don't just mean to Pearson Hardman."

"Harvey…" she begins, the implications of his words leaving her strangely breathless. He is staring at their hands, waiting for a response.

She is at a loss for words. His shoulders slump and he sighs. Then he stands, taking his coffee in hand, stopping briefly to squeeze her shoulder. "Think about it, Donna."

He tucks his hands in his pockets and starts for the street.

* * *

His slow saunter gives him a moment to appreciate the tall oaks, with their branches splayed above him as filter the rays of sunlight. But it is just a momentary distraction from his overwhelming disappointment. He supposes this is a deal he just could not close.

It takes all his willpower not to turn around and get one more glimpse of her when he hails the cab, which he promptly directs to midtown east. He decides to pick up some relevant paperwork, but what he intends to be a 15 minute visit turns into hours after an indignant call from a foolish client who has spoken to opposing counsel in an attempt to break a deal. He ends up filling out subpoenas for all the witnesses required for the upcoming trial, knowing both he and Mike will be inundated with other matters on Monday. After a quick visit to the partner's lounge for a cup of coffee, he starts back to his office, thankful he has not yet run into anyone.

He grimaces as he takes a sip from his mug.

"I'm pretty sure _those_ coffee beans are grown in a Jersey dump. Bet you're missing my coffee runs now."

Harvey freezes at the door to see Donna, legs propped up on his desk, flipping through an issue of Sports Illustrated as if she belongs there. The sun has begun to set, leaving the city glowing against a blushing pink sky, and only then is he aware of how late it is.

"How'd you know I'd be here?"

"Where else would you be?" She doesn't even glance at him, completely engrossed in one of the articles.

"You don't have an employee badge anymore," he points out, raising an incredulous brow.

"Doug never could say no to little-old-me," she replies breezily, referring to the weekend shift security guard.

She tosses the magazine on the table, and gives him a sly grin that is so completely and utterly _Donna_ that he finds himself mirroring it unabashedly. He lets his eyes run along the curve of her legs appreciatively, candidly. He spies a cup of Starbucks sitting on the table with a dab of smeared lipstick on the lid. He boldly picks it up and takes a sip, sighing contentedly, not sure if it's an effect of the caffeine or the intimacy of placing his lips on the place where hers were moments before.

"So," he drawls, putting his hands in his trouser pockets.

Donna tips her chin up defiantly. "So," she echoes, examining him with a critical eye.

He puts his palms outwards expectantly and waits.

"I want a raise," she says.

"Done."

"And," she taps a manicured nail against her chin thoughtfully. "One of those new ergonomic chairs that all the partners have?"

"It's yours."

She slides her legs off the desk as he stands in front of her. She rises to see him eye to eye, but her apparent confidence is belied as the glibness drains from her face. Her eyes darken and her mouth parts slightly as he hears her exhale softly.

This is it. This is the brink. They cannot blame their actions on the hazy effects of drink, or emotional blackmail of a final farewell. It is just the two of them now, as it was when they first met in the ADA's lounge, when he was blissfully ignorant of the impact this woman would have on his life.

"I don't think I can come back from this, Harvey," she warns, her voice tremulous.

That's it. His way out. She's giving him the opportunity to turn around and let everything be as it was, to pretend his confession in the park never happened. _I'll be ok if we're just Harvey and Donna again_, she is saying.

He considers this for a moment and cocks his head to the side. "What if we don't have to?"

Almost imperceptibly, she nods in acquiescence. His restraint has reached the apex, so he leans in, lips feather light against hers for but a moment until he pulls back to gauge her reaction.

Fortunately, she smiles before putting her arms around his neck and letting her mouth descend on his with considerable urgency. He shudders as her fingers dip into his collar to swipe against his skin, allowing him a strange moment of lucidity. He pulls back, and he decides the sight of this woman, lips red, face flushed and hair mussed, is one he will never get tired of seeing.

"What is it?" she asks impatiently, understandably so.

"I'm pretty sure I saw Norma out there," Harvey whispers, breath hot against her the skin of her neck as he gestures outside the office. "Wouldn't want to give her a free show."

"No, we wouldn't want that," she agrees quite seriously.

She snaps around on her heel and heads for the door, just like that, without a backwards glance, though the sway of her hips makes her intentions painfully clear.

And this time, Harvey follows.

* * *

**END  
**

**God these two are fun to write. Harvey Specter on the New York City subway has always made me chuckle.**


End file.
